


Their Spot

by through_shadows_falling



Series: Supernatural Ficlets [40]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Celebrity Crush, Chef Castiel, Dishwasher Dean, First Meetings, M/M, Pie, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what if Dean was a thirty-year-old dishwasher? He had a reason for it, obviously, and you know what? He worked in the most expensive, famous, Michelin-starred restaurant in the city. And the kitchen operated under Castiel Milton. That’s right, the two-time James Beard-awarded chef. </p><p>And maybe someday, he'd actually meet the guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the kitchen. 

God, he was so sick of  _Alastair_  and his fucking comments. Dean didn’t care that Alastair was the sous-chef. That didn’t mean he could treat Dean like shit. 

Yeah, so what if Dean was a thirty-year-old dishwasher? He had a reason for it, obviously, and you know what? He worked in the most expensive, famous, Michelin-starred restaurant in the city. And the kitchen operated under  _Castiel Milton_. That’s right, the two-time James Beard-awarded chef. 

Dean hardly ever saw the guy from his station, but it was still  _Castiel Milton_. He’d even had his own cooking show once, and Dean had watched every episode like, five times. 

So screw Alastair. He didn’t know a thing about Dean’s life, and he especially didn’t know that Dean actually  _enjoyed_  his job. The sous-chef could suck it.

Dean took a deep breath as he wound his way down the alley toward his favorite spot, a small space wedged between a wooden fence and a brick wall. He’d discovered it on a break a few months ago, and it was the perfect place to hide when he needed a breather. Like now.

Only, as he approached, a cloud of smoke billowed out from within its depths.

Damn. Someone had found his spot. 

But just as he turned to leave, the person appeared and immediately jumped. 

“Oh, sorry,” he said, in the gravelly voice Dean had only heard on TV. 

Because it was Castiel Milton, stubbing out a cigarette as Dean looked on, his mouth gaping. 

Castiel wore an unbuttoned chef jacket and khakis, and he slouched as he raised an eyebrow. 

“Um,” Dean said. He closed his mouth with a snap, and wished he’d worn something nice than jeans and a white t-shirt.

“I take it this was your spot?” Castiel asked, but Dean could only stare at him.

Until he shook himself out of it. “Uh, no, I mean. I go there when I’m on break but it’s not like I own it or anything. Actually,  _you_ probably own it since you own this whole place and all.”

Castiel’s lips twitched. “I suppose.” He cocked his head. “Wait, I’ve seen you before. Do you work for me?”

“Yeah. I wash dishes.” Dean braced himself for an interrogation, but Castiel merely nodded. “I needed a job, fast,” Dean continued, feeling a strange need to explain himself to the celebrity before him. “Some shit went down with my brother and I needed to move here and fund his rehab and….” He shut his eyes. 

Why had he mentioned all of that? Castiel didn’t care. The guy was rich and famous. Dean was no better than gum stuck under his shoe.

“What’s your name?” Castiel asked.

Dean slowly opened his eyes. “Uh. Dean. Dean Winchester, sir. Chef.”

Castiel nodded. “Do you enjoy your job, Dean?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t mind it. The soap messes with my hands, but it’s fine.”

Castiel’s gaze darted to where Dean clasped and unclasped his hands in front him, a nervous habit. 

“But,” Dean continued, “If you don’t mind me saying, your sous-chef is an asshole.”

Castiel blinked at him, his expression unreadable.  

Oh shit. 

Had Dean read this wrong? Should he have not spoken his mind?

Oh god. Had he just gotten himself fired? Then Alastair really  _would_  have something to laugh about.

But Dean’s panic lessened when Castiel broke into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling. 

Dean had watched Castiel’s show a lot, but he had never seen this expression before. It made his heart flutter, not like he wasn’t already fan-boying over the guy. 

Seriously, his nerves were out of control and he could feel himself sweating in places he really didn’t want to consider. Especially now that Castiel,  _Castiel Milton_ , was beaming at him as if he’d told the world’s greatest joke.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Castiel said at last. “No one has ever said something like that to my face before.”

Dean groaned inwardly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, I agree. Alastair  _is_  an asshole. But many chefs are, and he is unfortunately good at what he does.”

“Oh?”

Castiel nodded and strode forward. “I appreciate it, Dean. I’ve been wondering how to make this kitchen run more efficiently. Perhaps some personnel changes are necessary.”

“You’ll fire him?” Dean said, shocked. He was a nobody here. How could what he said impact so much?

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe. Or scare him into submission.” 

There was a beat, and Dean realized Castiel had told a joke. 

Dean cracked a grin. “Right. Well, you could, easily. You’re like, super intimidating.”

Could someone just shoot him, already? Why was he still running his mouth like this?

“You find me intimidating?” Castiel asked. He approached, popping Dean’s personal space bubble as he got close. 

Dean gulped. “Um. Yes?”

Castiel actually chuckled as he stepped back, leaving Dean room to breathe again. 

“I have to go back,” Castiel said, as he jerked his thumb toward his restaurant. “But I want to hear more of your thoughts. Are you busy after close tonight?”

Dean’s mouth went dry. 

Was  _Castiel Milton_  asking him on a date?

Were all his secret dreams coming true? Because he’d fantasized this happening, ever since he’d first walked in the door as an employee. 

Castiel had never noticed him before. How could this be happening? Dean almost wanted to pinch himself to prove it was real.

“Sounds good to me,” Dean managed to choke out.

“Excellent. And I’ll have to make you something. What do you like?”

“Pie,” Dean blurted.  

Goddamn it. It was true, but Castiel wasn’t known for being a pastry chef. He could do desserts, but Dean knew his forte was in protein and special marinades.

Castiel nodded again, thoughtful. “Okay. I will see what fresh berries we have in stock. I’ll meet you tonight in our spot, right after close. See you then.” He winked and jogged back toward the door. Then, he disappeared inside. 

Which left Dean staring after him, unable to believe it.

Standing not in his spot, but  _their_ spot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's how their date goes.

Dean showed up just after the restaurant closed.

He’d gone home hours ago, when his shift ended. He was grateful for that, because he’d needed to clean up for his date.

With  _Castiel Milton_. 

Dean was half-convinced it hadn’t happened. He had never expected Castiel to notice him, a lowly dishwasher. 

But then Castiel had done more than notice him. He’d asked him to come back after close.  _And_  the man was making Dean a pie. 

The celebrity chef was cooking for his dishwasher.

Dean must’ve hit his head or something. Though, as much as he was in shock and disbelief, he felt giddy. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and he smiled every time he remembered what was going to happen. Not to say he wasn’t nervous as all hell, too, but he was still excited. 

So, he got ready. He took a shower, put on cologne and some fancier clothes. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was for meeting in a side alley of a restaurant, but he figured he could get away with a nice pair of jeans and a Henley, with a maroon jacket thrown over it. 

Then he arrived at his and Castiel’s spot. Which was super shady, now that he looked at it. The alley was dark, and the auras of the streetlights on either end didn’t reach far enough to illuminate the tiny space. 

As he figured it’d be creepy to stand in the shadows, Dean lingered beneath the streetlight closest to the restaurant’s back entrance, which was most likely where Castiel would appear.

He turned out to be right, because about ten minutes into waiting, when Dean started sweating and second-guessing everything, Castiel popped his head out.

“Ah, Dean,” he said. He waved him over, and Dean joined him as they headed inside. 

Three things hit Dean at once, after the door closed behind them.

1.) Castiel had taken off his chef’s jacket, and was only in a tight white t-shirt and jeans. Oh god. And he looked slightly sweaty, too. Shit. Shit!

2.) The kitchen felt weird being so empty and dark. Many of the lights were off, and Dean was used to side-stepping people or flat-out bumping into them in the tiny quarters. 

3.) Despite the lingering odors of the day’s cooking, something smelled  _divine_. Buttery and fruity and...mmm raspberry? 

Dean’s pie!

In the main part of the kitchen, right next to the big oven, Castiel leaned against the counter and Dean followed suit. Castiel closed his eyes and rolled his head, his joints popping. He sighed and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. 

“Oh man, you didn’t have to go to the extra effort of making me something after working all day,” Dean said. 

Castiel hummed. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’ve had longer days, believe me. And I wanted to.” He opened his eyes and shot Dean a grin. “I hope you like raspberry.”

“Pecan’s my favorite, but I like cherry, too. And raspberry! Yeah.” Dean mentally cringed, even though he could feel his face flaming.

Castiel chuckled. “So what is it about pie that you love?”

“It reminds me of my mom. She’s awesome, and she makes the  _best_  pie, let me tell you.”

“And what about you? Do you cook?”

Dean had a sudden out-of-body experience when it occurred to him, yet again, that he was talking to Chef Castiel Milton. 

“I mean, I get by,” Dean said with a shrug. “But it’s nothing compared to your stuff. I’ve seen every episode of your show, like five times, and I’ve always wished cooking shows would send you samples to try along with the judges. Then I could understand their reactions, especially since your food looks  _amazing_.”

Castiel was smirking. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Dean realized he’d just fan-boyed out loud to the man himself, and he felt the urge to face-palm. 

“Though I imagine it might be difficult to make the food on demand,” Castiel continued. “Not to mention the shipping costs.” 

Dean blinked. So the guy was actually running with this joke, huh? He had a dryer sense of humor than Dean expected. 

A buzzer sounded, and Castiel bent to retrieve oven mitts. Dean definitely checked out his ass, which looked fantastic in his jeans. God, the guy was so hot. What was he doing with Dean?

“We’ll have to let it cool,” Castiel said, as he set it carefully on the counter. He pried off the mitts and stooped to put them away. Dean not so subtly stared again, and this time, Castiel caught him.

Dean quickly forced his gaze away, but it was too late.

“Were you staring at my ass?” Castiel asked. 

Oh boy. Now Dean really  _was_  going to get fired. Castiel was technically his boss, after all. He gulped.

“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?” Castiel continued.

Dean winced. “I think I’m more dumb than bold. I mean...I uh...” Oh screw it. He was already messing everything up as it was. “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. That’s why I jumped at the chance to work for you. I’m sorry. This probably breaks a million rules.”

Castiel was silent for a long moment. When Dean finally lifted his head, he found the chef stifling laughter behind his hand. 

“What?”

“I’m the one who asked you, remember? And as far as I know, I own this establishment. You haven’t broken any rules.”

“I...haven’t?”

“No. I’m flattered, of course, and...” Castiel’s suave confidence fell as he bit his lip. “We could certainly continue, if you want. Outside of work.”

Dean could barely breathe. “Continue?”

Castiel shrugged. “Um. With whatever. I just.” He blew out a long breath. “You know what? Let’s just have some pie. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten anything in five hours and it smells damn good.”

“Yes, Chef,” Dean said, only slightly mocking. 

Castiel shot him a wry look as he rummaged for a pie server and plates. “How big a piece do you want?”

“I’ll take whatever. It really does smell awesome.”

Castiel took his time carefully cutting two identical slices. Steaming raspberry filling oozed out from a perfectly brown crust, and Dean started salivating as his plate was pushed toward him. 

“You want me to eat with my fingers?” he asked.

“That would be interesting,” Castiel said with a raised eyebrow, and Dean felt a flash of heat spike through him. He gulped, but quickly cleared his throat when Castiel passed him a spoon. 

“Thanks.” He dug in, and raised the spoonful to his lips to blow on it. Once cool enough, he slid the whole bite into his mouth and moaned. “Oh my god.”

“Mmm,” Castiel agreed around his own mouthful. 

“I think I might have a new favorite pie.”

“That’s a shame. I wouldn’t want to overstep your mother.”

Dean cocked his head. “Yeah, that’s true. You may have won awards, but she’s still the best.”

“As to be expected. My mother taught me to cook as well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I started cooking when I was three years old. My mother had to help me because I could barely reach the counter.”

Dean smiled around another bite of pie, just imagining a smaller version of Castiel in the kitchen. 

They ate a few more mouthfuls in silence, just enjoying it, when Dean noticed the scars that mottled Castiel’s arms.

“Whoa, what happened there?” 

Castiel followed his nod. “Ah. My battle wounds. They come from being a chef. I’ve burned myself way too many times, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“What about you?” Castiel indicated the scar on Dean’s left arm. 

“That’s from working on cars as a kid. I was in the garage and scraped my arm on a tool as I fell.”

“So the dishwasher works on cars.”

“Hell yeah I do. Probably better at that than dishes, but you know.”

“Practice makes perfect, and I can always give you more dishes,” Castiel said with another smirk. 

“Don’t you dare. I’ve already got Alastair being enough of an asshole.”

Castiel laughed and Dean joined him. It felt good, to be sharing this moment with him. Dean hadn’t realized that Castiel was so down to earth. During work hours, he always seemed so aloof, so calm and cool and professional. Not to mention intimidating. 

But now, Dean couldn’t help but feel he was witnessing the true Castiel Milton, the man behind the famous chef.

And Dean liked him. A lot. Even more than his TV persona.

“Dean. Can I ask you a question?” Castiel said, after setting down his empty plate on the counter. 

Dean swallowed his last bite and nodded. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“Apologies if this is presumptuous, but I’d like to kiss you. Would that be alright?”

Dean’s brain short-circuited. 

Castiel Milton wanted to  _kiss him_? Dean had wondered if the chef might be attracted to other men, had even thought this might be a date, but this confirmed it. 

“Uhh...” he said intelligently. His face felt like it was on fire as he scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess. I mean, if you want to. Yeah, that’d be...cool.”

And just like that, Castiel crowded into Dean’s personal space, much like he had during their first encounter. Like then, Dean was left breathless, his heart pounding. 

“You are a very beautiful man,” Castiel said, and before Dean could protest the less than manly compliment, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s. 

They were warm and a bit dry, but Dean fixed that by licking them, and then prodding open Castiel’s mouth with his tongue. He needed to taste more of him, as he chased the tang of raspberry deeper and deeper. Castiel’s tongue met his, and they twined together before the chef pushed into Dean’s mouth, forceful and heady. 

Dean brought up his hands to cradle Castiel’s head in an effort to steady himself as Castiel attacked him. Their breaths were loud in the empty kitchen, and the counter top dug into Dean’s back as Castiel leaned into him. 

Dean swore he blacked out for a few minutes after that, as they continued to make out in Castiel’s kitchen. It all just seemed so unreal. But when they parted, and Dean found himself matching the chef’s dopey smile, he had to concede that this was really happening. 

“I just kissed Castiel Milton,” Dean said in disbelief. 

“And you liked it,” Castiel returned, and Dean had to nod in agreement. 

“Yeah. But practice makes perfect, right?”

Castiel smirked, and closed the gap between them. 


End file.
